


The Path We Came By

by RiniRhyme



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiniRhyme/pseuds/RiniRhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their bond is stronger than mithril and runs deeper than any dwarf mine of Middle Earth. </p><p>(Or: The many times Fíli and Kíli make their grumpy-pants uncle worry.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a very, very long time since I've read The Hobbit. I only recall the vaguest of events and that I cried for some reason during the book. Please don't spoil me! 
> 
> Fíli and Kíli are absolutely darling in the movie. Since it's been such a long time since I've read the book, this is set in movie!verse. Enjoy!

Fíli resembled their father more, whereas Kíli inherited their mother’s dark locks and eyes. Oftentimes however, Fíli begun to think that Kíli was growing to look more and more like their Uncle Thorin, whose regal bearing had not waned despite the long years in exile. But Kíli was too different; he was young, spirited, and hadn’t an ounce of austerity that Thorin seemed to have in spades. Fíli felt it though, that austerity, particularly when Thorin would look at him. He had wanted to squirm, drum his fingers, bounce his feet; anything to get away from those pinning stares, but he hadn’t given in to the childish impulse and instead, he always looked back.

Kíli may have been sharp eyed, but he wasn’t particularly the sharpest tool in the shed. Kíli would grin and wave when given those heavy stares and Fíli, for all that he loved him, sometimes wanted to throttle his brother.

“We are his heirs,” Fíli said to him one night after leaving Hobbiton. It had been a quaint place; Bilbo’s home was warm and inviting, and the food had been a magnificent improvement over the rations they kept for the road.

Kíli smiled. “We are,” he said and Fíli gave up the conversation before anything foolish came out of Kíli’s mouth. Kíli continued, however. “Why the serious face? You’ve become too much like Uncle these days, I’m starting to wonder where my brother has gone.”

Fíli stopped and frowned, which had Kíli smiling all the more. He pressed a thumb to Fíli’s brow, smoothed away the tension there, and brought their foreheads together. They stood, with Kíli’s hand tangled in Fíli’s hair, and Fíli found themselves breathing in time. Kíli was very warm; he could feel it even through the heavy cloaks they wore to stave away foul weather and cold winds. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the sensation of scent, touch, and sound wash over him in a haze. Everyone was gathered around the crackling campfire awaiting Bofur to dish out portions of food—rabbit stew with mushrooms and a side of corn, liberally borrowed from a farm not far out of Hobbiton—while Bilbo had taken out his pipe and just started to smoke, the scent of the weed not yet strong enough to permeate through the air.

Kíli was the first to pull away, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth and cheek when he let go. “Don’t tell me you’re getting old already,” he said.

Fíli punched him in the arm, though through all the layers they were wearing, he doubted Kíli felt much of the impact. “I am not that much older,” he replied, yet he felt the answering smile beginning to pull at his lips.

Kíli laughed and for a moment, it was almost like being back at home, curled up next to their mother in front of a warm hearth after a hearty meal. They’re too old—too big—to do that anymore, but Fíli remembered those times with the greatest of fondness.

And that was why they were here, he supposed; it wasn’t just familial duty or the promise of wealth—though that was a big motivator—they were here because there was a home to reclaim. It wasn’t just for them, Fíli was sure, but just as much for the other dwarves too.

“You just wish you’re as young and spry like me,” Kíli said. Kíli’s mood was infectious and Fíli snickered in turn.

A deep voice calling their names brought them out of their world; “Fíli. Kíli.”

Fíli turned to look at Thorin, aware that Kíli was doing the same. They both looked up to their uncle, though Fíli knew there were others who did not look upon him as favorably as much as them. It was no secret that they were Thorin Oakenshield’s heirs, but when it came to kingship, Fíli was next in line. He had lived in Ered Luin his whole life, worked with his father and uncle sometimes in forges of human villages and towns, trained extensively in the art of combat, and yet knew nothing of governance and courtly life. This was the farthest he’s ever traveled yet, and it was nothing compared to what some of the elder dwarves of the company has seen. He did not think he was ready, not yet, not for the life awaiting him in Erebor.

Thorin stared at them, his steely gaze unreadable as he looked from Kíli to Fíli and back. “Go get your dinner,” he said. “And rest up. We’ve a long journey tomorrow.”

Kíli smiled. “Of course.”

They started towards the campfire, but Fíli was stopped by a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. He looked to his uncle, who had a grim set to his jaw and a sad look in his eyes. “I could not send you lads back to Dís,” he said, in a voice so quiet it was nearly taken by the mellow evening wind. “I would not send you back to that life. Erebor is our legacy, our home. It belongs to us.”

The heavy weight of his uncle’s stare was back and Fíli felt it all the more. He breathed in and managed a small smile. “I understand, Uncle,” he said in reply. Though it was highly inappropriate, especially towards Thorin Oakenshield, King-in-Exile, King under the Mountain; he clapped his uncle on the shoulder. “Do not worry so. You’ll only get more grey hairs.”

“I worry regardless,” his uncle grunted. He gave Fíli a lingering, critical look and then sighed, waving a hand at him in dismissal. “Be off with you, before someone eats your share of dinner.”

Fíli inclined his head and moved over to the fire, next to Kíli who handed him his bowl of dinner.

“I guarded that with my life,” Kíli said, already half way done with his own dinner.

Fíli snorted, settled himself comfortably on the ground next to Kíli, and took the bowl. The food smelled amazing, probably because Bombur had just stocked up on seasoning and spices, but nonetheless it made Fíli’s mouth water. He ate, savoring the flavor and taste, occasionally bantering with Kíli when his brother made jabs at him. He caught Mister Balin and their uncle conversing in low voices away from the fire, occasionally glancing their way and then to Bilbo, who was smoking his sweet smelling pipe-weed and leaning against a jutting rock not too far from the fire, eyes far away.

Fíli turned his head back, letting Kíli’s boisterous laughter recapture his attentions, hoping briefly that tomorrow’s weather would be fair and their journey swift. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much Thorin in this chapter, but lots of bonding time between our favorite brothers!

When Thorin waspishly declared that they were to be looking after the ponies, he and Kíli had led their rides over to the dilapidated corral. After getting all the ponies in place, Kíli flopped onto the soft, grassy ground and yawned loudly. The camp was up the hill, farther away so Fíli could only hear a distant chatter of voices, but not actual words being said and it made for pleasant background noise as he took a seat on the ground next to Kíli.

“It’s a good day,” Kíli said, a smile on his lips as he closed his eyes. “Lay down, brother. Enjoy a rest while you can.”

Fíli laid down, feeling the tension slowly ease out of his body from the gentle warmth of the setting sun. The sky up above was clear, with no indication of rain or storm, and Fíli found himself dozing off soon enough.

There was a strange, cracking noise that brought Fíli out of sleep’s pleasant embrace. When he opened his eyes, the sun was sunk behind the thick canopy of trees, casting everything into a vivid shade of golden fire. He looked around and saw that Kíli was still next to him, eyes closed and snoring softly. He had a hand fisted loosely on Fíli’s sleeve, anchoring them to each other. Fíli almost laughed at how childish Kíli was sometimes and dislodged his brother’s fingers from his coat and brushed away errant strands of hair from Kíli’s face.

The movement must have woken him up as no more than several moments later, Kíli opened his eyes. “Good morning,” he said cheekily and Fíli snorted.

“Good evening,” Fíli replied just as Kíli sat up and stretched.

“Do you think we’ll get to eat soon?” Kíli asked.

Fíli groaned as he sat up too. “I hope so,” he said. He could feel his hunger like an echo in a cavern in his belly; it had been a long week where Thorin had been persistent in getting everyone to travel as far as they could as fast as they could.

Kíli had craned his head back to look at the encampment and Fíli did the same; there was a fire going, but it looked like Bofur and Bombur were still huddled over it cooking. No one looked over in their direction.

“That was a very good nap,” Kíli admitted.

Fíli smiled. “It was,” he agreed even if his shoulder was slightly sore from the position that he had been sleeping in, “though Uncle would have hung us by our toes if he thought we were careless.”

Kíli made a face. “We’re looking after the  _ponies_ ,” he said, voice pitched into a whine. “How hard can that be?”

Fíli should have known better in retrospect, but then, he very much agreed with Kíli. Watching the ponies was a tedious and boring task that they were unfit for; they preferred to be scouting or even hunting for food—anything that required movement and not sitting and waiting and watching. It was one of the reasons they couldn’t be trusted on a long night’s watch as they and Thorin had discovered.

The first time, when they had just been lads out in the woods at the foot of Ered Luin, they had been so excited and nervous that neither of them could stop throwing up at the idea of passing the night out in the wilds. Of course, they fell asleep before the moon even set behind the mountain range and Uncle Thorin had just sighed and told them to go home and not to worry; even the greatest of warriors had to start from somewhere. Their mother had laughed at the tale, much to their combined shame and embarrassment. Some years ago, when their uncle had brought them along on an errand he was running at the southernmost tip of the Blue Mountains, they had both ended up trapped in a ravine and had to yell until someone was awake enough to fish them out. Uncle Thorin had never appointed them to a watch since.

“They’re ponies,” Fíli affirmed, getting to his feet. “It couldn’t have been as difficult as raising you.”

“I was a very pleasant child,” Kíli said, throwing an arm around Fíli’s neck. “Not at all fussy like you, brother.” He brought Fíli’s head down into a hold and even dared to laugh when Fíli tried to struggle out of it.

Fíli wasn’t going to let Kíli get the best of him; he grabbed hold of one of Kíli’s legs and heaved, pushing him off balance and onto his back. Kíli made a noise that sounded like a chicken before standing up and tackling Fíli around the waist, sending them both rolling into the dense foliage of the forest.

Fíli laughed as he wrestled with his brother. It’s been a long time since they’ve indulged in such a childish act, the more serious task of the quest for Erebor at the forefront of their minds, but it seemed that today was a happy day and Fíli was going to enjoy it for all it was worth. Kíli seemed to be of the same mind.

He was all for putting Kíli into a headlock when he noticed several uprooted trees that had not been there before and he remembered the strange sound that had awoken him from his nap earlier. Kíli, taking advantage of his hesitance, pushed off of him and tossed him to the ground before sitting on his back. “Hah!” Kíli declared triumphantly, laughing like a child again. “Not so strong, are we, Fíli?”

A terrible feeling suddenly crept through Fíli’s veins, chasing away the fleeting happiness starting from his toes and reaching upwards until it rested in his fingers, making them run cold and turn white. He blinked and looked around the forest, never noticing how dark it had turned. “What did that?” Fíli asked, not caring that Kíli was still sitting on him like he was a chair. He pointed at the trees, the fresh smell of earth filling his nostrils.

Kíli looked and the laughter abruptly died. “That wasn’t there before,” he said. He helped Fíli to his feet quickly and they investigated, wondering how on earth did something like that happen without them noticing.

“Wait,” Fíli said when he noticed something strange. “How many ponies are there?”

“Sixteen,” Kíli said from where he was staring at the biggest tree, which had been felled to the ground completely, roots and all. “Why?”

“Quick, count them,” Fíli muttered and he rushed back out of the forest to get a better view of all the animals. They were properly corralled in, no matter the disrepair of the fences; the ponies weren’t high jumpers and the wooden beams were made to keep taller animals from escaping. When he counted the ponies, Fíli could not be more aghast.

Kíli had a similar expression on his face. “We have a problem,” Kíli said. “Either my eyes deceive me or we’re two ponies short.”

“They couldn’t have gotten out by themselves,” Fíli reasoned, his eyes darting back and forth from each grazing pony. Did he miscount because it was dark? Perhaps. He quickly redid his counting, but the number came out to be the same: fourteen ponies when they should have sixteen.

There was a noise from behind them and the wafting smell of a well-cooked rabbit stew, but Fíli couldn’t turn his head away from the ponies. If he did, would another two spontaneously disappear into the night as well?

Bilbo was there beside them, holding up two bowls of food. Fíli had been hungry, but upon the discovery of the missing ponies, his appetite had all but diminished. Neither he nor Kíli made a move to relieve the hobbit of the bowls.

“What’s the matter?” Bilbo asked and without even a pause for a huff of breath, everything tumbled out of their mouths in a panic.

Uncle Thorin was going to kill them when he heard of this, Fíli thought. Then, rebelliously: if. If he heard.

They brought Bilbo down into the corral and to the uprooted trees; the little hobbit had a terrible frown on his face as he absorbed everything. He took great care in not sloshing the stew around as he moved and Fíli wished fervently that they could find the ponies, just the three of them, without Thorin ever being the wiser. Perhaps, with their burglar, if he was as stealthy as Gandalf claimed him to be, then—

Trolls.

Of course it had to be mountain trolls, Fíli thought and that was when a brilliant idea sprung to mind. One look at Kíli told him that he was thinking the same.

“We have to do something,” Bilbo said and Kíli seized the opportunity.

“Yes, you should,” Kíli whispered, snatching the bowl from Bilbo and circling around him. “Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you’re so small, they’ll never see you! It’s perfectly safe, we’ll be right behind you,” he amended when Bilbo wouldn’t stop protesting. Bilbo still didn’t move, rooted to the spot behind the trees from where they were spying on the trolls.

Fíli snatched the other bowl from Bilbo’s hand and pushed him forward. “If you run into trouble,” he said, “hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a brown owl.” It used to be his and Kíli’s secret code for ‘an adult is coming, hide your mischief!’, but Bilbo was now repeating it like a mantra as he faced the trolls. Fíli nodded at Kíli and they rushed off, back to camp.

“Do you think Uncle will believe us?” Kíli hissed.

“Mountain trolls. Of course he’ll believe us. Plus, they’ve got Minty and our burglar,” Fíli replied.

So the first thing that fell out of their mouths when they descended on camp was: “Mountain trolls! They’ve got the ponies and Bilbo!”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Kíli added hastily.

Thorin’s lips thinned into a line as he stared them down and drew his sword. “Show us the way,” he said and gestured for everyone to arm themselves. Then, he returned his attentions back to Fíli and Kíli. “I’ll hear your excuses later,” he growled. “And they better be good.”

Fíli exchanged a glance with Kíli and quickly moved a step away from their uncle. “We were watching the ponies, but a troll came out of the forest, took the ponies and Bilbo, and we followed them and came back,” Fíli nearly squeaked. “There were three of them!”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Lead on,” he said impatiently. “You’d better hope that those ponies are still alive or you’ll be carrying the packs as you walk to Erebor.”

Kíli shot a look at Fíli and they quickened their pace down the hill and towards the trolls’ camp. 


	3. Chapter 3

The moment Thorin said that they were going to rest for the night in the shallow cave, Kíli had grabbed Fíli by the arm and with his free hand, swatted Fíli upside the head. Fíli was certain he didn’t do anything to warrant such violence.

“Why?” Kíli demanded, his voice low and quiet. Fíli doubted that it was out of consideration for any of the others that he kept his volume down because Kíli looked like he wanted to be shouting, yelling—anything besides being in a dank, dark cave in the middle of a storming giants battle. Fíli was feeling the same and he probably looked it too; rainwater was sticking fast to his hair and beard, trickling its way down his already damp back despite the heavy layers that he wore and he couldn’t seem to muster a reassuring smile for Kíli. He was cold and feverish all at the same time and he had to get out of the wet clothes soon, lest he got sick. That would make the already difficult journey even harder.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me,” Fíli said, trying to shrug Kíli’s hand off his arm. Kíli’s grip only tightened in response and Fíli gave up, resigning himself to his wet clothes and heavy packs until Kíli said what he needed to say.

“You reached for me,” Kíli said. “Why did you not try harder?”

“I could not,” Fíli corrected, suddenly irritated with his brother. “And neither would I have risked your safety. I couldn’t reach you, not with boulders tumbling everywhere and the mountains moving. Now take off your wet clothes before you get sick.”

Kíli made a frustrated noise through his nose and let go of Fíli’s arm. “Sick?” he echoed. He dropped his pack, weapons and all, unceremoniously on the sandy ground where it echoed with a dull thud. It was completely against what Uncle Thorin had taught them about treating good weapons with care, a part of Fíli’s mind whispered to him, but he did not have the heart or mind to keep Kíli in line. “Sick?” Kíli repeated, his voice growing in volume. He stripped off his heavy overcoat and threw it at Fíli with a vengeance, the water from it spraying every which way. Fíli caught the coat and threw it to the side, on top of a rock without taking his eyes off of Kíli.

Fíli was irrationally angry; he did not know why, but he was itching for a fight. Both of them had been taught better, had learned discipline and limitation decades earlier, yet he felt the roar of blood pounding through his veins like hundreds of warhorses marching to a brisk beat.

“ _Durin’s tits_ —” Kíli swore, his hands forming fists.

Fíli threw the packs he carried at Kíli with a wild strength he did not know he had and Kíli deflected them, scattering the packs over the sand. “You foolish—” Fíli began, but was interrupted by a heavy grip on his shoulder.

He nearly elbowed his uncle in the face.

“You will both stop this nonsense,” Thorin snapped, his voice deep and disapproving. He had one hand on Fíli’s shoulder and his other was clenched on Kíli’s arm with a grip that looked painful. “If you still have this much energy, I’ll send you both back out there.”

For a moment, something childish and ugly flared within Fíli’s heart and he wanted to scream at his uncle, but words failed him and he felt the fire within dwindle and die. He was left breathing harshly and exhausted, wet and miserable.

“I don’t—” Kíli started to shout but a hard glare from Thorin stopped him. Fíli watched as his brother slowly piece himself back together bit by bit and when Uncle Thorin thought they had calmed down, he let them go, though he stayed standing where he was, an expectant look upon his face. Fíli realized that the whole company was staring at them and that the things they were throwing had been sent all around the cave, though now they were piled up neatly besides Dwalin, who looked even less impressed than Thorin, if that was even possible.

“I apologize,” Fíli said after a long moment of silence. “I did not mean for…”

He didn’t know what to say as there were no words for it. He didn’t know what came over him then, but he felt his cheeks color in shame and embarrassment and it was nearly like he was a child again, still beardless and hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

Balin smiled kindly at them. “It is not to us that you must apologize to,” he said simply.

Fíli turned to look at Kíli, who was biting on his bottom lip—a long forgotten childhood habit that only appeared in harrowing times—and thought that his brother looked terrible and terrified. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Kíli was still scowling at him, face pale, a small tremor shaking his body. “I’m sorry too,” Kíli muttered, diverting his gaze to their uncle.

Thorin heaved a sigh, fixing Fíli a stare with his piercing eyes. “We were worried for you,” he said, voice low. It was impossible to not eavesdrop in the tiny cave, but as far as a play at privacy went, it didn’t go unnoticed. The rest of the company returned to setting up bedrolls and staring at them from the corner of their eyes. “If you were lost then…” His brows furrowed deeper as he trailed off. After a short time of silence, the faraway look in his eyes faded and Thorin came back; “My heart can only break so many times.”

It was this admission from his uncle that reason dawned on Fíli. Thorin gave him a curt nod, his piece already spoken, and stepped away, sending glares at everyone else that wasn’t even trying to pretend to be nosy.

Fíli and Kíli retrieved their bedrolls from their packs sheepishly and without words to anyone or each other. Dwalin had given them both a hard look and they scampered off to the other side of the cave, as far away as they could get, feeling like chastised children.

“I was worried too,” Fíli said softly as they laid out their bedrolls next to each other. Kíli looked over, his dark eyes sharp in the low light of the cave; what Fíli could see of his brother came from the clashes of lightning outside and he wished that Uncle Thorin allowed for a fire to be started, if only to see Kíli in better lighting.

“I couldn’t see you gone,” Kíli replied later when they were both settled, voice pitched in a low, raw whisper. He had turned to face Fíli, the space in between them narrowing and narrowing as Kíli rolled forward and onto him.

Kíli was by no means a small dwarf and neither was he as light as he used to be, but when he brought his head to lay on Fíli’s chest, Fíli let him. He threaded his fingers through Kíli’s hair and held him close, wondering who was it that was shaking so hard it was making his head hurt. It had to be Kíli; he did see him trembling earlier.

“I would not stand to lose you,” he whispered into the top of Kíli’s head. He felt arms wrap around him, clinging to him, tighter and tighter until it was uncomfortable to be within its embrace.

“You cannot lose me,” Fíli heard the murmured answer, so quiet that he nearly mistook it for the whispering wind blowing into the cave. “There is nowhere that you can go that I will not follow.”

The words sprung to mind a whole slew of worries, but Fíli forced himself to relax and pushed his dark thoughts into the deep recesses of his mind. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally; Kíli was curled up on top of him, a strangely comforting presence and familiarity in this brave new adventure. He could feel every minute move that Kíli made, every intake of breath. For that he was glad and for that, he told himself that it was enough. Kíli was alive and with him and that was what mattered.

Fíli heaved a deep breath and combed his fingers through Kíli’s hair one last time before resting them on the crown of Kíli’s head.

One day at a time, he thought as he fell into uneasy slumber, one day at a time. 


End file.
